Without You
by x0-vindicated-0x
Summary: There was always someone else who would come first in my life, no matter how hard I tried to convince myself otherwise." Alternate ending to "Into the Night". Oneshot.


**So this is an alternate ending to my chapter story, Into the Night. It takes place shortly after chapter 22 of Into the Night, and it's basically what would have happened if Derek had never picked up any of her calls, and he had never gone to Ontario to save her from Max. **

**If you never read the story, you might not understand this story, so I will forewarn you. **

**Anyway, enjoy. **

**Disclaimer: I own nothing. **

**Without You**

* * *

I've been in California for twenty-seven days now; not much to report really, except that the heat is near sweltering. Me and Alyssa have been hitting the beach whenever it's not raining. I go there purely for the girls, but she's been working on her tan alot. And while I'd never tell her face to face, for fear of some serious injuries, she's wasting her time. She's one of those girls who just doesn't tan easily, and I think that she knows it. Maybe she's just in denial. Or maybe she's just testing me to see if I'll tell her the truth.

Or maybe she's just _really_ dense, though I doubt that.

We've somehow managed to put our drunken one-night stand behind us, and move on with our friendship. She's been staying at my apartment alot lately, and I've got to wonder sometimes just how she feels about all of this. She says it's all fine and good, but there's times when she gets this faraway look in her eyes, and I've really got to wonder if it's as "fine and good" as she claims it is. Sometimes I just feel like she's taking the aftermath a whole lot worse than I am.

I mean, I can't help it if I'm hung up on the most difficult girl in the world, can I? Sure, Casey's a walking and talking annoyance, but she was a huge part of my life for a very long time. Yeah, Alyssa's a real great girl, and hell, she'll make a great girlfriend for someone one of these days... but she's not Casey.

I leaned my head back against the glass window of my living room- the one with the nice view of the beach. Droplets of rain slipped down the glass, and I thoughtlessly brought my feet up onto the window ledge before me, letting out a heavy sigh.

Twenty-seven days.

For some reason, feels like a hell of alot longer to me.

- - - -

Thirty-seven days, and the heat still hasn't died down any. I've got a half decent tan by now, and Alyssa hasn't been all that great at hiding her jealousy either. It rained again yesterday, and she made a point of storming around the apartment angrily, claiming that she'd "never get a tan in this stupid, stupid, _stupid_ rain," and that "_some_ people just tanned too naturally."

I'm pretty sure that the emphasis on the "some" was supposed to make me feel guilty. Something that Alyssa hasn't quite grasped yet is that Derek Venturi doesn't _do_ guilty. She'll figure it out in time, I guess.

I got another phone call from Casey this morning. She's been calling me for like... three weeks now, and nobody could ever fully understand how hard it is for me to ignore every single one of those calls. I see her name flashing on the Caller ID box, and there's nothing I want more than to snatch the phone up off it's cradle, and apologize for every last thing I've ever done to wrong her. I want to tell her how sorry I am about the whole drug mixup, and I want to apologize for leaving her behind like I did. Because, despite it all, I know that I must have hurt her when I did that.

I even want to apoloigize to her for sleeping with Alyssa, if that makes any sense. As Alyssa never fails to remind me, we're not together anymore, and I understand that. Technically, I have no obligation to Casey anymore, which is why Alyssa claims that I'm really starting to lose it.

But despite what she tells me, and aside from the fact that she makes a whole lot of sense, there's still a huge part of me that just wants to pick up the phone and prattle on about how "sorry I am for sort-of-kinda-not-really cheating on you."

... maybe Alyssa's right. Maybe I _am_ losing it.

- - - -

Forty-six days, and I'm finally starting to get some peace of mind. The heat has started to taper off a little bit, and it's just nice enough to be able to relax, without having a heat stroke everytime you take a step outside.

At around eleven o'clock in the morning, I find myself waltzing into the kitchen, still slightly hungover from the couple of drinks I'd had the night before. Alyssa had wisely taken a cab home once I'd gotten a little _too_ tipsy, considering what had ensued the last time, so I was pretty surprised to find her sitting at my kitchen table, chewing absent-mindedly on a salad that she had purchased the day before at the grocery store, and had left in the fridge unfinished.

She looked up to take in the sight of me, and I looked down at my appearance. Grey faded t-shirt, black and red pajama bottoms, messy brown hair... typical wake up protocol for a guy like myself. I probably looked like crap- morning and hangovers usually do that to me- but with Alyssa, I don't care. She gets that I'm not always perfect, and that's one of the main reasons why she makes such a great friend.

She watched me for only another moment, before nodding towards the kitchen counter, where several grocery bags lay open, their contents hidden to my naked eye.

"Bought you some of those pizza-bite things you like so much," she informed me, chewing slowly on a piece of tomato. "You know, the... the triple cheese ones, or whatever."

My face brightened, and I took the few steps towards the counter, grinning as I reached for the first bag.

"Sweet," I said pleasantly, putting aside the first bag when I saw that it was filled with vegetables.

Yuck.

"Yeah," she said, and I didn't need to turn to know that she was smiling. "I know you love those, and you hate cooking, so I-"

"Great," I interrupted, rifling through the bags carelessly now. "Any calls from Casey this morning?"

Silence. I closed my hand around the box of triple-cheese pizza bites, pulling them loosely from their place in the bag as I flick the heat on in the toaster oven, eager to get some lunch started. I pop a handful of the snacks onto the little cooking dish inside the oven, and crank the timer up to twenty, wanting them to come out just a little bit crispy.

Turning, I find that Alyssa is fixing me with a concerned look, almost as though she had expected more from me. My smile falters, but I pull myself up onto the counter effortlessly despite her, my palms pressed flat on either side of me.

"Well?" I ask again, more eager this time. "Did she call?"

She narrows her cold blue eyes against my own, and I know already that I've gotten her angry.

"What?" I ask, raising my shoulders into a skeptical shrug, and grabbing a bottle of half-empty Gatorade off the counter behind me. Twisting the top, I take a swig- not really caring that it's a day old, or that it's blue- and I hate the blue ones.

Alyssa shook her head with disappointment, lowering her gaze from mine as she poked through the withering green leaves of her salad.

"It's nothing," she dismissed, though the anger in her voice suggested that it was everything. "I'm not that hungry anymore. I think I'm gonna go lie down for a little while, okay?"

I open my mouth to respond to her, but her anger has somehow deprived me of all coherent speech. It shouldn't bug me that she's angry with me over nothing, but it does. Casey always used to do this. She'd get annoyed and sooky with me for hours on end, days sometimes, and then I'd find out it was over something stupid, like leaving the milk open in the refridgerator, or something.

"I can use your bed, right?"

I only nod in response, and before I can utter a word, the phone is ringing loudly in the background, it's tone distinct and almost harsh. Alyssa had stopped in front of me, almost as thoughshe were about to sayu something more, but she grimaces smugly as she backs up towards the hallway again, nodding vigorously towards the cordless phone resting on the coffee table.

"There you go," she said, a certain waver of distaste to her voice. "Day forty-six, and she's still calling."

Without another word, she has stormed off towards my room, and I can feel the vibrations of the slammed door on the counter beneath me. I cast an uncertain expression towards the phone on the coffee table, and I hold my breath until it stops ringing. It's a whole lot easier to control my Casey-oriented mind when I'm not sitting next to a phone line that could directly connect me to her- to everything I need.

Forty-six days. I've survived forty-six of these days from hell so far, right?

That's gotta be a good sign.

- - - -

On my hundred and tenth day in California, I have come to the realization that the university's hockey team isn't half bad. I'd come to California with the expectations that these heat-magets couldn't know a thing about real hockey, but they'd proved me wrong. I'd gotten back my old position from high school- center forward- and I'd quickly risen to something of the same stardom that I'd achieved during my high school days.

Alyssa comes to all of my games. She sits in the bleachers among our hundreds of dedicated fans and faculty, wrapped snugly in my former letterman's jacket- the one I'd gotten in high school. She's one of those girls that you see sitting in the stands, rolling her eyes at the sign-bearing fangirls, and yet holding up her own little team-flag with a proud smile, all the same. She cheers everytime I make a goal, and I can always tell her voice apart from the dozens of other girls that feel the need to scream my name. I don't know what it is, but it's like Alyssa's voice is the only one that holds true happiness for me.

I know I've made her proud. It's been almost four months since I last saw Casey, and it's been more than three weeks since I've mentioned her to Alyssa out loud. I thought that starting classes would only depress me even more, but with school and hockey to worry about, I've found that it's become increasingly harder to get upset over Casey. Alyssa claims that- if I _am_ upset about Casey, I must be trying to depress myself, because otherwise, I shouldn't have the time to be upset.

On the ice, it's all too easy to forget about everything that has happened to me in the past several months. It's much too easy to forget about the fact that I should be back in Ontario, starting university with Casey, or the fact that we should've been picking out names for our unborn baby right about now. I can let those painful reminders go- if only for a few short hours- and I can focus on the fact that at least one person in those stands is truly proud of me.

Because Alyssa knows how far I've come, and she knows how hard it is for me to push everything aside, and get on with my life.

Today, I meet her after a mind-blowing victory against our opposing team, and I find myself wrapping my arms around her waist, lifting her up into a tight hug as I spin her around, grinning the entire time. She giggles, wrapping her arms around my neck, and I feel the gentle vibrations of her laughter against my chest as she kisses my sweaty forehead, beaming proudly at me as the other players rejoice with their own friends around me.

"You did _amazing_ out there, Derek!" she tells me, and I can hear in her voice that she means it. "Star of the game, hands down!"

"Oh yeah?" I challenge, unable to resist the natural high that I can feel coming over me. "I guess I've got a bit of natural talent, huh?"

She reaches out to ruffle my matted, damp hair, wincing with slight disgust at the obvious sweat that her hand collects as it runs through my hair. She wipes her hands on her jeans, but she ignores it like she always does, and pulls me into a tight hug, laughing.

"I swear, all of those girls up there are just _dying_ to become the future Mrs. Venturi," she giggled, eyeing the groups of jealous fangirls smugly. "They're shooting bullets at me right about now. If looks could kill..."

I pull back and glance over my shoulder, eyeing the jealous looking girls that were crowded in the stands in small huddles, gawking at the two of us. Some I recognized from our own student body, and others I knew must be still in high school- sisters of my teammates, no doubt.

One of them was sporting a "Derek Venturi" support t-shirt. Where she had gotten the picture of me, I would never know.

I laughed, turning back to Alyssa as I shake my head, trying to regain some level of modesty.

"That's uh... slightly creepy," I get out, my arms never leaving her waist as she laughs along with me. "Flattering, yes- but still creepy, nonetheless."

And then I flash that smile at her- the one that I know deep down I should never use on her. It's unfair advantage, to use my most charming smile on a girl who is already so taken up with me, but I can't help but take advantage of her feelings sometimes. I know she cares about me more than I do about her, and I know that her feelings are more of a romantic nature, and yet I cannot help but lead her on a little. It's cruel of me, and maybe I've turned into a bastard, but dammit, I need her to stay. I need someone to stay with me, someone to fit snugly into my jacket during my games, to cheer me on and give me hugs immediately after I exit the rink- someone to get jealous over the pocketfuls of fangirls that are practically undressing me with their eyes throughout the majority of the game.

"You know you're my favourite fangirl," I compliment her, and maybe the old me would've felt more guilty about it. Maybe if I wasn't so jaded by my own heartbreak, I would've felt worse about the faint shimmer of hope that passed through her eyes at my words.

Maybe if I were a better man, I would tell her the truth; that while she was a great replacement, and a nice personal cheerleader... there was always going to be someone else that I would rather see snuggled into that jacket, someone _else's_ body that I'd rather embrace right after my games. There would always be another voice inside my head, cheering me on- overshadowing her own proud cheers of victory in the stands.

And there was always someone else that would come first in my life, no matter how hard I tried to convince myself otherwise.

One hundred and ten days, and I'm still not over Casey.

Figures.

- - - -

It's been one hundred and forty-nine days since I last saw the beauty of Toronto, and I would be lying if I were to say I didn't miss it. I talk with my family often- Edwin and my father, mostly- and though they both monitor their words very carefully, I know deep down that there are things they're choosing not to tell me. I can ask about nearly anyone or anything and get a lengthy, elaborate answer out of my younger brother, and way too much information than I even need from my father. They could prattle on for days on end about Marti's school projects, or Lizzie's soccer tournaments, but on the rare occasions I bring myself to ask them about Casey, they're suddenly hit with the "one word answer" syndrome. They'll give me brief, poorly-delivered answers that tell me nothing other than the fact that she's in university, and she's still with that pig.

I try not to think about Max. Thinking about Max only makes me want to hit someone, and since the only person around me during these telephone calls is Alyssa, I don't think it would be such a hot idea.

There is always a certain note of displease to their voices when they speak of "him". You'll notice I refuse to say his name most of the time, and it's mostly because I don't think that "he"- and yes, by "he" I mean Max, spawn of all evil- is worthy of any sort of title at all. But I get the impression that my brother and father hold just as much detest towards "him" as I do. The cold tones of their voices make me wonder if maybe something is going on, but if there was, I would know, right?

Of course, it'd be alot easier to find out if Casey hadn't stopped calling me a few weeks back. The last I'd heard from her, I'd been sitting in my apartment with Alyssa, and we'd been watching some reruns of 'Prison Break' on TV. The phone had rang longer than usual this time- something that I should've taken as a sign, like this was my last chance- but it had cut off after thirteen rings. Apparantly, she had gotten the message; the message being that I was done with her, and that I didn't want to interfere with her future anymore. I was doing this for her own good; really, I was. If she wanted to be with "him", I would let her. I wasn't going to complicate her life anymore, and I wasn't going to subject myself to even more heartbreak in the future.

"You seem distracted," came a voice from behind me, and I turn to see Alyssa smiling at me brightly from behind, her eyes swimming with an affection that I know I will never quite be able to match.

Nonetheless, I force a smile, and I stand up from the bed, taking a couple of steps towards the girl in my doorway.

"Distracted in what way?" I question, unsure of what she means. "I don't have an attention span, remember? There's no such thing as me getting distracted."

"Right," she responds with a simple roll of the eyes, before reaching out to wrap her arms around my neck in a gentle hug. I hug her back, my arms winding around her waist in something _almost_ like a perfect fit. Almost, but not quite. It's sort of like getting a replacement house key, or something. You know, you've got this shiny new key that works just as good as the first one ever did, if not better, and yet it's so unfamilar and so completely unlike the first that you can't even rationalize with how stupid your reasoning is.

I pull back, and I notice a certain note of sadness in her eyes as she looks up at me, sighing heavily in what felt strangely like an open invitation to speak up and ask what was wrong.

And so I do. I ask her what's on her mind, and almost immediately after I regret doing so, because there are tears in her eyes and I know that I indirectly put them there. She's ranting; something about her aunt moving back to Canada, something about "that stupid prick of a real estate agent she hired and how _dare_ she call herself family", and then something about being homeless pretty soon.

"-and now I've gotta find an apartment within the next three weeks or I'm gonna end up like that Oliver Twist kid we read about in high school," she finished, her tears falling onto my brown and white polo shirt. I cannot help but suppress a chuckle at her explanation, and I use the pad of my thumb to wipe away her tears as I shake my head, smiling slightly.

"You've got a place here, Lyssie," I remind her, motioning around us. "You practically live here anyway. Why not make if official?"

She's gaping at me, and I'm wondering why a girl who apparantly likes me so much seems so taken aback by the prospect of living with me.

"Or if you don't want to, that's cool, too," I start, but she shakes her head no, and she chokes out an answer, sounding shocked.

"It's not that, it's just... well, you want me to move in _now_?"

I chuckle, an amused expression crossing my features at her unnecessary question.

"What, would you rather wait until you move onto the streets and contract tetanus, or something?"

She chuckles, sniffing back quite a large volume of tears as she swats at her cheeks with the back of her hand, drying her skin slightly. It occurs to me that I just offered to let Alyssa move in with me, but I can't bring myself to think of it as a bad thing. Lyss is one of those nurturing types of people. She takes care of me, and sometimes I feel like that's all that keeps me going. There are days that would end with me being back on a plane to Ontario- back to Casey- if it wasn't for Alyssa.

"What's gonna happen when you get a girlfriend?" she asked me, a certain note of envy to her voice now. "I don't think any girl would appreciate her man living with another woman, do you?"

I lift one shoulder into a shrug, and even though I know deep down that she's right, I can't help but argue.

"We'll deal with that when the time comes," I excuse, not wanting to deal with any sort of drama right now. "You need a place to stay, and I'm offering you one. What more is there to it?"

I'd said the wrong thing; that much was obvious. She was looking at me now with a mixture of disbelief and fury, and my arms were suddenly void of her presence as she pulled back, shaking her head.

"You just don't get it, do you?" she asked, trying to refrain from getting too angry. "The second you get a girlfriend, my time here is going to be limited," she explained to me, and I hated that some deeper, more logical side of me agreed with her. "No girl is going to agree to having her boyfriend's "best friend that he sort of had a one night stand with" live in his apartment. Who are you trying to kid?"

I understand that what she's saying makes alot of sense. If I had a girlfriend, there was no way I would agree to letting any other guy live with her, unless there was a serious blood relation going on between the two of them. It only worsened the situation to know that me and Alyssa had had a sexual encounter before, I suppose.

"I don't want to end up homeless in any given number of days, Derek, so unless you can give me a pretty good excuse as to why that scenario won't unfold, then I'm going to have to consider transferring back to Toronto for my degree. I don't think I can afford an apartment out here by myself, but I might be able to hook up with a friend up in Toronto, and-"

"I won't get a girlfriend," I excuse quickly, feeling panic well up in my throat rapidly. I can't just let her go; not now, not ever. Alyssa is truly all I have down here in California, aside from a few good friends that I've made on the hockey team. Yeah, the guys are great to hang around with, but Alyssa... Alyssa with her blue eyes so much Casey's... she's special to me, except maybe not in the way she wishes to be. Alyssa keeps me grounded; she keeps me from obsessing over Casey as much as I could be. She makes me feel like I still matter, and knowing that she is still harbouring feels for me gives me that little nudge of self confidence.

And damn, do I ever need that confidence. When the girl you love more than anything in the world is able to look you in the eye, and tell you that you're nothing to her... well, let's just say that it takes a certain sort of hit on your ego. When she rejected me, I felt like the earth beneath me had stopped moving- as though someone had deprived me of all my rightful oxygen. She'd left me broken, and she'd left my in pieces, and Alyssa... she's worked so hard to put those pieces back together- back into something that might be able to resemble the persona of "Derek Venturi" someday.

And if she leaves now, if the only person I have turns her back on me now... how will I function? She's all I've got. And while I know I can never love her in the way I'm supposed to, my screwed up mind is prepared to d whatever it takes to harbour my sanity- to ensure that I'm getting that comfort and attention from _someone_, even if it's not _my_ someone.

"I won't have a girlfriend by then," I repeated, my eyes wide as I prayed she would not see through my mask- that she could not tell I was lying. "I promise."

"How can you promise that?"

A beat. Silence. How_ can _I promise her that? I could tell her the truth; that I would never have a girlfriend because I'm too hung up on my ex, but I don't think that would really go over very well with her. So how can I make her believe that moving in with me is the right thing to do, that going back to Ontario should be completely out of the question for her?

Before I can think things through and attempt to rationalize with myself, my lips are on hers, and I'm tracing the outline of her cheek with the pad of my thumb, much like I used to do with Casey. I keep one hand firmly around her waist, trying to force her to believe a lie- trying to fake the affection and love that I know she's searching for, in that kiss. I can feel her kissing back- the only sign that she believes me at all- and in my mind, I can only imagine that it's Casey. If I think hard enough- if I close my mind off to everything but Casey's soft, brown hair, and her delicate, porcelein features, I can almost imagine that it's her lips moving against my own- not Alyssa's.

The moment of truth arrives when Alyssa pulls back, her hands cupping my face as she stares at my, wide-eyed. There is definite joy in her eyes as she shakes her head, dumbfounded.

"What was that?" she whispers, barely daring to sound hopeful. "You've never..."

"It's my answer," I murmer, swirling my thumb across her cheek, smiling with a false sort of fondness. "I..." I swallow back the lump in the back of my throat, closing my eyes for only a moment. "I love you, Lyss. You can't leave me."

Lies. All lies. I can feel my true self just screaming at me to stop playing Alyssa like a fool- that this is taking the womanizer act much too far. Alyssa is a kind-hearted and genuine woman- someone with real and actual feelings, much like myself. I know that I'm taking advantage of her- that I'm being a cold and heartless bastard right now, but what else is there to do? I'm a selfish man, I can admit it, and my need for protection is worth more to me than my morals, at this point.

"You've always been there for me, and I... I couldn't take it, if you left me now."

Her eyes had tears in them now, and it was all I could hope for that she would not cry. Lying to her was bad enough; seeing her cry tears of joy over me would be far too unmanageagle.

"But you told me-"

"I'm over Casey," I lie, a sweet and serene smile creeping its way onto my lips, doing its best to fool her into whatever I want her to believe. "There's only you now, Lyss. But you've gotta stay with me."

And suddenly, she's nodding her head yes, and there's tears running her cheeks as she falls against my chest, sobbing.

And one hundred and forty-nine days after my departure from Ontario, I come to the realization that I've never felt like more of a sick, twisted soul in my life.

- - - -

I'm five hundred and fourteen days into my stay in California. It's been a little over a year now, and I would be lying to even myself if I were to delude anyone into thinking that I had gotten over Casey. I roll over in bed every morning to see Alyssa lying next to me, and I fall asleep with her wrapped in my arms at night, but in my head... it's just Case. Alyssa sees the facade that I put out there- the image that everything is so much better than it really is. She thinks that she's the girl I dream about when I close my eyes, that she's the first thing I think of in the morning and the last thing I think about when I fall asleep at night.

Boy, is she ever wrong. If she ever knew just how much Casey dominated my thoughts during my every hour- sleeping or waking- I don't think she'd be too pleased at all.

I hold a picture up in front of me, my fingers gripping the edges of the coloured photograph that had been sent to me in the mail only a month before. The edges were already faded and frayed from being toyed with so much, and I knew that it was unhealthy to look at a photograph of someone else's child as much as I did.

And yet the little girl in the picture was too much like her mother for me to try and ignore- too gorgeous, too beautiful to be confined to this mere sheet of photo-printing paper. She is six months old in the picture- smiling widely for the camera from what looks like someone's arms, and I can't help but wonder if those arms are Casey's.

She has soft brown tufts of hair on the top of her head- curls, by the looks of it- and it's not hard to tell that she's going to look just like her mother. Those features- that delicately placed nose, that perfectly set jawline, and that smoothly arched crease of her forehead- it all comes together in a way that's all too familiar to me, a way that tells me this is truly Casey's daughter, despite my hoping and wishing that it was all some sort of trick.

I've been searching almost obsessively for some sign of "him" in this baby's gogeous stature- but such an evil is hard to find in such an innocent being. I might not believe that he was her father at all, if I could not match their eye colours to a terrifying extreme. Whereas Casey's eyes were baby blue, Max's had always been a darker shade of green- attractive, and yet the cruelty and hatred that had always existed there completely overruled any trace of humanity he had possessed.

And while Ava's eyes are identical to his in colour, she's got that kindred sort of sparkle to her gaze, the same gentleness that makes me believe she has inherited more of her mother than I could have hoped for, that God, if there is such an existance, knew that passing Max on through a child would be a true crime against humanity. Her eye colour is the only feature of Max's that I can find in her features, and I would be lying if I said that this didn't make me just a little bit relieved. I wasn't too sure I could handle seeing a mini, female version of Max running around anywhere.

Alyssa claims I'm obsessive, and while I know she's joking, I see the look that she fixes me with when she thinks I can't see her. She sees me staring at this picture all the time, and while I know she taunts and teases to keep things light and fluffy, the pure definition of our "relationship", I know that deep down, she has to know. I try to hide it from her- try to mask my emotions so far within me that she could never possibly reach them, but I know that I can never fully hide how I feel. I'm a liar, and I can deceive her into believing just about anything I say, but I know that she will never truly believe that I am over Casey.

"Looking at that picture again?" comes her smooth voice from behind me, and I look up to see my girlfriend standing over me, her hand brushing gently against the back of my neck. I choose not to answer, and she perches herself on the back of the couch, running her hand through my hair affectionately.

"You've got a beautiful niece, Derek," she compliments, not noticing the way I stiffen under her words. "You've got every reason in the world to be proud of her."

"Ava is _not_ my niece," I snap, turning my head to glare at her. She catches sight of the feral look in my eye, and draws back slightly, a slight trace of hesitance in her eyes now.

"I wasn't trying to suggest that Casey was family, or anything, Derek, honestly."

I drop my shoulders, turning my gaze back to the picture as I try my best to retain my anger. Alyssa's not the one I want to get angry with. Hell, Max isn't even the one I want to be angry with.

No, as I stared at the picture in my hands, I could feel my self-resentment climb further and further, perhaps towards the brink of insanity.

Because as much as I've adjusted to my life with Alyssa, it's clear to me that Casey has done more than adjust- she's settled. All of my high hopes and pointless wishing got me nothing in the end. I could hope and pray all I wanted that she would come back to me, if I were a praying sort of guy, that is, but deep down, I knew that she had moved past the adjustment phase in her life. She had moved on, and she had settled down. She'd found "real" happiness with Max, and she had a daughter that she had every right to be proud of. She had created a nice little life for herself, and where was I? Sitting in my cramped up apartment two years after our breakup, still hung up over the one girl who broke my heart.

What killed me the most was that it was all my fault. All of this pain and suffering could've been prevented if I'd just been a little bit more careful, or if I'd watched my driving a little more closely. It had been me that had caused the accident that lost Casey her memory, me that had taken away the life of our unborn child.

Which led me to the unthinkable confrontation that this little girl in the picture, this precious baby that Casey held every right to, could have been mine- _ours. _If I hadn't of been a complete and total moron, Casey would've never lost her memory, and she never would have miscarried with our child.

But now she had new memories, and she had _Max's_ child, right? And really, who was I to interfere with such a positively _happy_ couple?

Yup. Five hundred and fourteen days into my life in California, and I've come to the realization that Casey's over me. Casey was never aching over our breakup to begin with.

I'm beginning to wonder why I question all of the people who tell me I'm an idiot. Really, what was I thinking?

- - - - -

Eight hundred and fourteen days in California, and I think I'm finally starting to feel a little bit better about my life. Sure, I still think about Casey on two occasions every day- when I'm awake, and when I'm asleep- and yeah, I may have called Alyssa by the wrong name once, twice... ten times, maybe, but any man could mistake his girlfriend ten times in the run of a month, right? Really, I'm not obsessed.

Ava is a little over a year now, and my so called "loving" family feels it is somehow appropriate to email me pictures of her on what is growing to be a daily basis. Edwin is the only one who thinks to edit out the ones with Max in it, God bless him. I knew there was a reason I kept him around all of these years.

But the rest of them, God, they make me sick. They email me all of these sappy and "feel-good" pictures of the happy family- all curled up together on a picnic blanket, relaxing in the backyard on Canada Day, like it's actually _therapeutic _for me to see pictures of the man I hate putting his filthy, unworthy hands all over the woman I love. I know they mean well, but really, it's sort of like they're saying "Hey, the poor guy's hurting. Maybe rubbing Max's victory in his face a little will actually be _healing_ for him. Yeah, that's it! Let's email him pictures that make his stomach turn in knots, that make him nauseated at the pure sight."

... or something like that.

Casey has completely given up on calling me now. Her desperate phone calls during that one summer a few years back had ended pretty rapidly once summer turned to fall, and her phone number had only appeared on my Caller ID box twice since.

The first time had been on Christmas Eve a few months back. I'd been lying in bed, Lyssie curled up asleep next to me, when my cellphone had lit up from the bedside table. I had been almost asleep at the time, but the sight of Casey's name flashing across the display screen was enough to bring me around again. I'd lay there for the duration of her phone call- frozen against Alyssa, clutching my hand to her side in a desperate attempt to remember who I belonged to now, where my loyalties were supposed to lie.

It had taken every ounce of self-restraint not to flip open that phone, and when I received a short text message a few moments later, when she realized that I was not going to pick up, it had taken everything in me not to jump on a plane and go straight back to Ontario, to take her in my arms and make her promise to never leave me again.

It had been short and sweet, simple and easy, and yet it had touched my heart so deeply that I felt like, if I was the sort of guy who dealt with tears, I might have cried out of happiness. But I wasn't, so of course I was able to keep back the prickling behind my lids at the sight of her message.

_"Merry Christmas, Derek. You really deserve all of the happiness in the world, and I hope you get it someday. - C."_

I had never shown Alyssa that message, and she would never know that it was saved to my phone, a constant reminder that maybe Casey felt something for me too, if only a vague affection.

The second call had come a few days after Ava's first birthday. I assumed she had called in regards to the package I'd sent her in the mail a week before Ava's birthday- a gift, of sorts. It had been some sort of artsy type of play kit, something that Ava would probably create the world's hugest mess with. Something for Casey to clean up, at least. Hey, I may not be in the same country as her anymore, but I could at least do my very best to keep her on her toes, right?

I had ignored this call also, and I had failed to answer Alyssa when she asked why Casey's cellphone number was on our call display box, later that evening.

It was Friday evening now, and I found myself sitting back on the couch, my arm wrapped around Alyssa's shoulder, a comfort zone by now. I had grown so used to being around her, that it was almost too easy to believe people's comments about how "adorable" we were together, and about how they all believed in "true love", when they looked at us. I don't know how they figured that, but I guess I'm a better liar than I thought, because no one ever seems to realize that the look I hold in my eyes all of the time isn't love or affection for the woman next to me, it's need. I don't _love_ Lyssie, not in the way that I should. She's my best friend, and I've grown rather fond of her, but even two years of our forced relationship has not given me requited feelings for the girl I claim to love. I stay with Alyssa out of necessity- because she's someone who treats me good, and who I know will never abandon me. She keeps me from going crazy by my lonesome, and while I know she deserves better than me, I'm too messed up to care, at this point.

"Hey, anyone in there?" Alyssa jokes, waving her hand in front of my face gently. She chuckles when I turn to her, wide-eyed, and she shakes her head, placing her hand gently against my inner thigh.

"Come on, baby, cheer up," she tries to tell me, chuckling gently. "I've done everything I can think of tonight to put you in a good mood, and you're still not smiling."

This was true. I had come home after my classes to find my favourite recipe of hers sitting on the table- some sort of Italian pasta that her mother taught her how to make when she was young- and the wine that accompanied the meal had been great, I guess. She'd let me watch hockey all night, trying not to notice that I barely got excited when my team won the game. She'd been showering me with compliments and kisses for the past hour and a half, but I'd responded in robot-form, speaking only when spoken to, and giving only brief, one word answers.

"Sorry, Lyss," I apologize, and I'm surprised to realize that I truly mean it. "I'm just tired, that's all. Coach worked us really hard at practice today, and I guess it's just really catching up to me."

"You need sleep," she decided, one hand rubbing my back in what I figure is supposed to be a soothing manner. "Maybe you should go to bed early."

Before I can answer her, the phone is ringing on the endtable next to Alyssa, and she unwraps herself from me to pick up the phone from its cradle. Her eyebrows furrow together slightly as she squints at the screen, and I notice the darkened look of her eyes when she looks back up at me, trying to force a smile, but failing horribly.

"It's for you," she says blankly, shaking her head gently. "It's Casey."

My back stiffens, and I try not to empty the contents of my stomach onto the floor as I stare at the phone stiffly, frozen with horror. My mouth is dry with anxiety, and I can feel my throat closing off as a thousand possibilities race through my mind at once. There had been good reasons for Casey's phone calls before; Christmas, and Ava's birthday. But today was nothing special to either of us, leading me to believe that there might be something more behind this phone call. Was there the slightest chance that Casey was calling to make up, that she would tell me that Max had been killed in some horrific car crash, and that she needed a good shoulder to cry on?

I was sort of liking the latter of the two, actually.

But then I caught sight of the knowing sort of look in Alyssa's eyes, and I knew answering the call was not an option. Alyssa was staring at her lap now, her hand still holding out the phone to me, and through the hair that fell down around her eyes messily, I saw the hurt and heartbreak in Alyssa's eyes. She was wondering the same sort of thing as me, right about now. What could my ex-girlfriend possibly want with me, and at one o'clock on a Saturday morning? Sure, it was earlier in Ontario, but Casey knew the time differences better than I did. It must be important, if it couldn't wait until morning.

I knew that Alyssa understood this, and with my mind screaming at me to go against my conscience and just answer the damn phone call, I felt the pad of my finger brush against the end key, signalling that I wanted to ignore the call. The screen remained lit up as the call continued to come through, but the sound of ringing could no longer be heard ringing through the apartment, and Alyssa was suddenly looking up at me with a hopeful and confused gaze, as though she didn't fully believe I was doing this for her.

"It's not important," I told her, clenching one hand into a fist as I wrapped the other arm tightly around her shoulders. "_She's_ not important, Lyss."

Her eyes flicker with hope, but I can see the doubt etched so clearly into her features as she lets her eyes wander all over my face, searching for some sign of dishonesty. I force myself to look honest, and it seems to suffice, for she raises her head slightly with hope, her voice a quiet whisper.

"Really?" she asks hopefully, and I cannot deny the way my eyes flicker to the caller ID screen once more, my throat swelling with emotion when I see that Casey is still trying to get through to me, that she hasn't hung up yet.

I tear my eyes away from the phone, matching them unwillingly to hers as I give a tight nod of the head, swallowing hard.

"Really," I lie, forcing out a smile. "Who needs Casey, right? I've got you."

She's convinced, or so it seems, and I feel the relief spread through me as she leans towards me, one hand cupping my cheek gently to her palm as her lips press to mine. There is a weird sense of familiarity about it, and yet after two years with Alyssa, after hundreds upon hundreds of kisses I have shared with her, I am forced to admit that I still cannot feel one tenth of the sheer perfection and sense of belonging that I felt when Casey so much as pecked her lips to my cheek.

But yet I hold her tight, kissing her back with an urgency that I've learned she mistakes for love and passion; a mask, of sorts. I'm a sick, twisted sort of demon, and once again, I want to slap myself for what I'm doing to Alyssa- for the lie I'm forcing her to believe. It would've been easy to get out in the beginning, simple to escape from, but I know now that there's way too much emotion involved here, that it would be irreversibly and unchangeably earth-shattering for her if I were to leave her now.

And sadly, after eight hundred and fourteen days in California, I still know that I'd go back to Casey in a heartbeat, even if it meant leaving Alyssa broken and shattered, alone and devestated. She doesn't know that I have every intention of returning Casey's phone call the second she's out of my sight, and what scares me the most is that I find myself hoping Casey wants me back, after all of this time.

Even if it means bringing Alyssa's world to a earth-shattering halt.

- - - -

It's one day later- day eight hundred and fifteen on the California countdown (or would it be count-_up_?) and I've finally gotten out of Alyssa's sight long enough to make a phone call. She was glued to my side the night before, almost as though she sensed that my attention was not completely focused on her. Everytime she had kissed me, she had done it with just a little bit more urgency and desperation that usual. Her fingernails were practically cutting into the skin on the back of my neck as she pulled me closer to her, almost as though she was trying to remind me of where I was, and who I was with. It was like she was trying to remind me that I was hers; not Casey's, _hers_. Marked territory, or whatever.

And so I didn't get a chance to return Casey's phone call last night.

But now, I dial Casey's cellphone number quickly, ignoring the message I receive about long distance charges. I glance over my shoulder every two seconds, half expecting to see Alyssa racing down the hallway of the hockey rink, demanding to know why I didn't meet up with her immediately after the game. All around me, people are meeting with their loved ones, grinning and laughing, hugging and accepting the congratulations that their family and friends offer them, but I have skillfully avoided Alyssa like the plague. I saw her once or twice, peering over the heads of the crowd on tip-toes as she struggled to find me, but I've found solace behind an out of order vending machine.

But I know that it's only a matter of time until she spots me, and so I get more than a little bit frustrated when a message comes over the phone line, claiming that the phone I am trying to reach has been deactivated.

My lips quirk into a frown as I lower the phone from my ear, staring at it as though it were some sort of foreign object. What did they _mean_, the number I've called has been deactivated? I think I know Casey's number pretty damn well, even after the years we've spent apart. Stupid, automated, monotone operator voice. What do they know, anyway?

I am about to try again, thinking maybe my fingers slipped on one of the numbers when I dialed it, but before I can so much as tap in the area code, my phone vibrates against my palm, and I look down to see my father's number appearing on the screen.

I frown, and for whatever reason, my stomach twists and turns at the gentle vibrations of my phone against my palm. My father never calls my cellphone unless it's an emergency. He leaves messages on my answering machine at home, but he never wastes my long distance minutes unless he absolutely has to.

With trembling fingers, I raise the phone to my ear, and I am quickly greeted by my frantic father, who is rambling so shakily that I can barely decipher a single word he's saying. He's rambling now, something about an accident, something about life support. I hear him mention alcohol, and something about Max, but it's all a buzz in the background to me as I stand frozen against the vending machine, too paralyzed with shock to move, too stubborn with my own strongly held ideas of love to believe him.

He says that the doctors tried their hardest, and that Casey put up a good fight, but that her body just couldn't take it. He tells me that they lost her this morning, and that's when I find myself snapping my cellphone shut, unable to listen to my father.

Liars, the lot of them. Do they think it's _funny_, playing me like this, and on what should be one of the happiest days of my unviversity life? My team just won the game of the season- the game that will bring us to nationals, dammit, and now my liar of a father wants to knock me out of that natural high?

And yet I know my father's not that good of a liar, and I know that, while he loves to play pranks, he'd never stoop _this_ low, just to get in a cheap laugh.

Alyssa has fought her way through the crowd by now, and she's shaking my shoulder to get my attention, but my body is numb to anything but shock. Her mouth is moving, and I can see concern and confusion in her eyes as she struggles for my attention, but I can't hear a word she's saying. Everything around me has faded into a quiet buzz, and all I can concentrate on is the image of beautiful blue eyes that I see behind my lids, the stunning image of Casey's eyes that I've never quite forgotten over the years.

Eight hundred and fifteen days in California, and I think I've just hit a brand new low.

- - - -

Day one without Casey. And I don't mean the "okay, so the girl broke up with me and now I've gotta learn to live without her" sort of "without Casey", I mean the real thing.

They say she died in a drunk driving accident. Her and Max had been at some fancy party together, a birthday celebration for one of their mutual friends. Max had had just a little bit too much to drink, and while Casey had assured him that she could drive, or that they could call a cab, he had refused her. Witnesses had told police that the couple had been seen arguing outside the party for a good twenty minutes before their departure. It hadn't come as a shock to many when they saw Max give Casey a swift slap across the face, and tell her to "get the hell in the car". He'd been drunk, and he'd been a bit delirious under the influence, but a few close friends had said that the abuse wasn't a shock, that it was something that had happened often. Max normally had the decency to keep it private, hidden beneath the four walls of their seemingly perfect home, but people knew. They kept quiet, but they knew that there was more to the happy-go-lucky relationship than met the eye.

They'd hit nearly one eighty on the highway, before Max had lost control of the car, and skidded off the road and onto the gravel that lined the freeway. The car had rolled for a good fifteen metres, before coming to an ear-splitting halt at the foot of a sign. The car had been upside down, and the pole of the road sign had sliced halfway through the car, narrowly missing Casey by just a few inches. Max had gotten out alright, but Casey...

Well, my mind still hasn't come to terms with the state she must have been in.

To be honest, it all seemed surreal to me until I saw the casket with my own two eyes. I had sat numbly throughout the plane ride home, not uttering a word when Alyssa tried to tell me that it would all be okay. Her hand was in mine the whole time, and I think it still is, but I can't feel anything yet. In the back of mind, there's some sort of instinct that tells me to act natural, to put on the old "Derek" charm and pretend like everything's cool, like I'm holding my head higher than they would expect me to, throughout all of this.

But I can't even put up the pretense that I'm doing okay, and I know I would be stupid to try. People all around me are clad in black, sobbing into tissues and coat sleeves, uttering words of condolence to Dennis and Nora, but I don't shed a tear. The moment I walked through the door of the funeral home, I walked straight to the oak casket at the front of the viewing room, and I hadn't moved since. I think I engaged myself in brief, monotone conversation when my brother and sister came to give me a sullen sort of greeting, but I'm not sure. I don't know who I've seen today, and who I just _think _I've seen. I feel like my mind is playing tricks on me, and the only thing I know for sure is that I've never been as sure of my feelings for Casey as I am right now, as I stare down at her gorgeous face, forever frozen at the tragic age of twenty.

She looks just the same as she always did, except there is a certain sort of sadness to her features now, one that I know for sure did not exist the last time I saw her. I cannot see her eyes, of course, but I have a feeling that, if I were to brush her eyelids open, even for a moment, I would see some painstaking confirmation of my own suspicions- that there would be a heartbreaking sort of sadness to her crystalline blue eyes that only Max could've put there.

Her face is pale, and even through the makeup, bruises are visible. My father tells me that it was a shock to everyone that an open-casket ceremony was even possible. She'd died of heart failure, according to my father, and I cannot help but feel relieved that her face still looks the same, mostly. Sure, I've got that little voice in the back of my head that is just _aching_ to get a glimpse of her beautiful, blue eyes, but that little voice in my head is also telling me to let the those unshed tears come out, and that's just crazy talk. If I cried, I'd be like every other person in this room, and I know that Casey wouldn't want anyone to cry for her. She'd want them to be happy for the life she lived. She wouldn't want this.

"She hated being the center of attention," a dark voice murmers, and I'm surprised when Alyssa looks up at me, and I realize that I'm the one who's speaking. I'm slightly taken aback by the lack of knowledge at my own actions, but I continue, swallowing hard.

"She wouldn't want this," I choke out, fighting back the lump that has been growing in the back of my throat since two days before, when I first heard of her death. "All this crying and weeping, she'd hate it. She would want people to move on with their lives, to be happy for the time she had. She... she'd feel horrible, to know that she caused this much pain."

"People are going to cry, Derek, regardless of what Casey would've liked," Alyssa said quietly, though there was a definite note of reservation in her voice, as though she were afraid she would say something to set me off on one of my little tirades. I'm just a little bit emotionally unbalanced right now, and I know that she has acknowledged that, and that she fears it.

"Crying is sort of... I dunno, mandatory, for a funeral home."

"I'm here, and I'm not crying, am I?" I stress, my voice wavering dangerously on every note. "Maybe these people don't know her well enough. Maybe they just... didn't get her, I dunno."

I'm rambling now, and I trail off before I come off as sounding more stupid than I already do. I see my hand moving cautiously towards the casket, and as my hand brushes to her cold, pale cheek, I feel my eyes flutter shut in relief. Despite the fifty pounds of makeup I'm sure they've loaded onto her skin to attempt to cover her bruises, I'm relieved to find that she still feels like Casey, like _my _Casey. She still feels the same as the eighteen year old girl I cradled to my chest just a few short years ago, as I whispered to her that I loved her, as she assured me that she loved me too, and that I would never have to doubt her feelings for me, ever.

My vision blurs, and I find myself turning back onto the casket, for the first time since I got here. My breathing is coming in ragged breaths now, and my hand drops away from Casey's cheek, the other dropping away from Alyssa's hand numbly.

"Derek," I hear Alyssa say next to me, but I shake my head, pushing through the sea of people, not quite sure where I'm heading for.

Five minutes later, I find myself perched on a bench at the far end of the wall, my head in my hands as I struggle to regain some sense of control over my breathing again. I feel like my entire body is defying me- like it's turning against me, betraying me entirely. My lungs don't seem to be getting the air they require, and my hands are shaking out of control against my lap. My eyes are focused narrowly on the hardwood floor beneath the bench, and I look up only when Nora asks me to handle Ava for a few moments, that she had to go off and speak with Casey's father for a few moments.

It seemed stupid to me that they would have allowed an infant in the funeral home to begin with, with all that crying and whatnot, but I guess finding a babysitter was hard, when all of your close friends and trusted comrads were grieving alongside you, just as torn up by the tragedy as anyone else.

I had been reluctant at first, and the mere sight of the infant in front of me was enough to turn my stomach. How had I ever been so taken up with this baby, this meaningless little life? This child, however cute and innocent she may appear to be, was always going to serve as a constant reminder to me that Max had won out, that he'd gotten the girl in the end, not me. The hours that I had spent analyzing the photograph of Ava seemed suddenly stupid and sick, twisted and inappropriate. So what did I care if this kid was Casey's? She was no kin to me, so why should she be my problem?

And yet, the moment I held her in my arms, all of my doubts disappeared. Her tiny finger wrapped around my much larger one as I awkwardly adjusted her against my chest, unsure of how to handle such a small baby. Ava was barely over a year old, and yet it had been my own sister's childhood since I had last held a baby this young. In that first moment, I was unsure of where to put my hands, of how to properly support her tiny body against my own.

But she somehow relaxed perfectly into my chest, and as her tiny head dropped onto my clothed shoulder, I felt something that I hadn't anticipated. As I glanced down at the soft brown curls atop her head, I felt my entire body stiffen under the realization that this little girl, this tiny piece of Casey, was absolutely perfect. What did it matter if she carried half of Max's DNA? So maybe she had the genes of a killer in her, of a sick, twisted bastard much like I myself have grown to be, but she was still Casey's daughter. It didn't make a difference if she unfortunately possessed any of Max's characteristics. She was Casey's, and from the moment I held her, I felt almost like she was mine.

I refused to give her up when anyone tried to take her from me, and I ignored Alyssa when she told me that this was crazy, that I wasn't thinking logically. My mind was numb as I argued with my father and Nora that Ava could go with me- that she could be _my _responsibility. Max was in prison, and if there was one thing I knew that Casey would want protected, it would be Ava.

And I rather felt that I owed her that much.

And so at the end of my first day without Casey, the end of my eight hundred and seventeenth day away from any sense of normalcy, it was decided that Ava would go with me, for the time being. Permanent arrangements would have to be checked into, and there would be a check as to whether or not Casey had made any formal plans for Ava's care, if anything were to ever happen to her.

But for some reason, I knew that there was no doubt in anyone's mind when they saw me leave the funeral home with the toddler in my arms. I somehow got the sense that they saw exactly what I felt- perfection, and some weird sense that Ava truly belonged there, in my arms.

- - - -

Eight hundred and twenty-eight days, and I'm back in California. It's been twelve days since Casey's death, and ten days since I first made my connection with Ava.

Ava is the most adorable baby I've ever seen in my life, and I'm not just biased; that includes Marti, too, and God knows how much I love my Smarti. She's got this adorable little smile about her whenever you make her happy, and she always lets out these happy squeals of laughter when you do something she finds amusing, which is something that comes naturally to me. For a baby, she doesn't cry nearly as much as I had expected, and she's almost on a predictable sort of sleeping pattern.

She's smart too, something I should've foreseen, taking in Casey's daughter. It's like she knows when I'm going to feed her. She sits in the highchair I borrowed off of Nora, and she claps her hands until someone brings her food. There's times when I'm really busy with homework and whatnot, and she seems to know that this is quiet time. Sometimes, she'll doze off across the room, and other times, she'll chew quietly on one of her teething rings, watching me with those green eyes, as though I really and truly interest her.

I'm not really sure what Alyssa thinks about all of this. She's been sort of quiet since we came home from the funeral, and while I know she could never, ever hate a baby, I know that she's not exactly happy about Ava's presence in our apartment. Maybe she thinks I'm ignoring her too much, or maybe she's just not too comfortable with the idea of having my ex's baby around.

But I can't shake the feeling that Ava is _supposed_ to be with me, that if Casey could make this decision for herself, she would _want _me to have custody over Ava. We just connect, just like that, and I know it's silly of me to talk like that about a baby, but this is the first time since Casey left me that I've felt any true sense of importance. It's the first time that I felt like I was where I belonged, even if that sense of belonging could never be fully complete, not without Casey here.

At around five o'clock that evening, the landline phone rings, and I reach for it quickly, seeing as Ava has fallen fast asleep across the room from me, and I don't want the noise to wake her.

"Derek here," I greet, and I can still hear the broken undertone of my voice, a true sign that Casey's death is still weighing heavily on my mind.

"It's me."

I recognize my best friend's voice on the other end of the line, and I can already tell that he doesn't bring good news.

"Hey Sam," I sigh, running a careful hand through my hair. "Look, man, I'm sorry that I brushed you off at the funeral like I did, but I just..."

"You had alot on your mind," Sam excused, and I could tell that his dismissal was genuine. "I wouldn't expect you to pay me much attention at a time like that. Trust me, it's fine."

It's not fine, and I want to tell him that, but I know he'll argue with me come hell and high water, and I know it's not worth the effort.

"What's up?" I ask cautiously, sensing that he hasn't called me for some random chat. I can hear the cautious undertone in his voice, and I know that he has called me for a reason.

"It's about Casey," he said slowly, and I can feel my heart clench at the sound of her name, tumbling so easily from Sam's lips.

"What about her?" I ask hesitantly, unsure of where this is going.

I hear Sam draw in a deep breath on the other end of the line, and my anxiety only deepens when his voice darkens considerably on his end of the line, laden with tension.

"I was at that party, man," he admitted, sounding bashful. "I was talking to Casey just a few minutes before she... before Max made her..."

"I get it," I rush, understanding, but not wanting to hear it. "You saw her before she got into the car with Max." I pause, and when he does not argue this matter, I trust my assumption to be correct. "Okay, so what's the big deal? You were talking to her, and..."

There was a pause, and I could tell that Sam was starting to regret making this phone call at all- that maybe he sensed it was a mistake letting me in on whatever it was he was about to tell me.

But his better half seemed to win out, and he continued with his explanation, still sounding slightly reluctant.

"She told me that... that she'd called you, a few minutes before," he admitted, and I could feel my heart drop to the floor at the realization that suddenly clicked into place in my mind. "She'd... she'd been putting off calling you for awhile, figuring that you were happy with Alyssa, but she felt like you had to know how she felt, that she needed to come clean and admit to you that she... she..."

"She what, Sam, spit it out already!" I urged, and a part of me didn't want Sam to say what I knew in my heart was coming next.

"She still loved you, D," he confessed, confirming my suspicions altogether. "She's had her memory back since... I dunno, a few weeks after you left for California. I didn't know, I really didn't. She said it all came back to her when Max's abuse started again, and that... that she'd spent weeks calling you, trying to make things right again."

My heart was racing against my chest, and for the first time in three years, I felt like I was honestly about to be sick then and there. Yeah, I sook and whine alot, and I always get this nauseated feeling, but this sickness, this felt _real_. Every muscle in my body, every bone, every vein, it felt like it was on fire, like someone was piercing a knife into my skin again and again, twisting and twisting, and it made me sick to my stomach. I had always wondered why she had spent so long calling me, before, and now that I knew, now that it was too late...

It was much too hard to deal with.

My eyes fluttered shut, and my fingers curled around the edge of the couch cushion beneath me as I tried my best to steady myself.

"Please don't tell me that," I mutter, struggling desperately to keep the contents of my stomach down. "Don't tell me that I could've... could've had her back, that she could've been mine all this time."

"I'm sorry, man," he put out, and I knew that he was telling the truth- he truly was sorry. "I didn't want you to be in the dark. I thought it would be best if you... if you knew how she felt, in the end..."

And I couldn't take it. Before I knew what was happening, I had hung up the phone, and buried my face shamefully into my hands. I knew that Sam meant well, and honestly, I was glad that he had told me. Through it all, he was my best friend, and he had filled me in on something we both knew that I deserved to know.

But God, did it ever hurt. In a flood, everything that we could've shared, everything that could have been mine, came rushing back to me in one, massive, overwhelming sort of wave. Casey had wanted to make things right with me. If I hadn't of let my stubborn side dominate, if I had been just a little more cooperative, and answered just one of her phone calls back then... if I had answered her phone call the night of the accident, even... I could've fixed things between us. I could've saved Casey from this hell of a nightmare that I was currently entrapped in. I could've saved her from the abuse that I knew in my heart had been consistant throughout their relationship, could've saved Ava from the life she was now doomed to live- a life without a mother. Ava had the most amazing mother in the entire world, and she would never get the chance to know her, now.

My fault. All my fault. Every action has an equal, or opposite reaction. And twelve days after the death of Casey McDonald, the woman that I knew in my heart was my soulmate, I understood something for what was the first time since I had arrived in California.

I had been a complete and total idiot since day one. I had played with Alyssa's feelings; I had led her to believe that there was something between us, that I loved her as much as she had grown to love me. The reality was, I didn't love her at all, not in the way that I should. A true relationship might have been possible between us, if I had not forced the relationship to happen. She truly loved me, and I knew now that she would be completely and totally devestated when I told her the truth, when I told her that it had all been a facade, a mask to hide my true anguish and heartbreak. I had grown into the type of person who used people based on need. I was using Alyssa to replace Casey, and I was using Ava to fill the hole that Casey had left in me, in heartbreak and in death. Neither girl deserved what I was subjecting them to.

Not Ava, and not Alyssa. Especially not Alyssa.

And suddenly, I knew what had to be done. For once in my life, I was going to face up to my own responsibilites, however scary that may be.

- - - -

My eight hundreth and twenty-ninth day in California was my last, and it was a busy one at that.

I'd called Nora first thing the next morning, and after a lengthy discussion with her, I'd told her that it would be best if Ava returned to Ontario. She'd been surprised, and I couldn't say I blamed her. Anyone who saw me leaving that funeral home with Ava could tell that that little girl was instantly an important part of my life, and that a seperation wasn't even an option, anymore.

But I understood that, in order to take care of anyone else, I needed to first learn how to take care of myself. I'd been living through other people, filling the gaps in my life with whoever I could shove into those empty places, and it wasn't right. Alyssa deserved a man who could truly love her, and while I knew I would break her heart by leaving her, I understood that I was doing her some good, in the long run. I had not waited around to say goodbye; I knew how painful those sorts of breakups could be, and it had been one of the reasons my breakup with Casey had been so rough. We'd lingered. We'd danced around our unresolved issues, and we'd been forced to interact every single day.

And I knew, if I stayed, I would be making it that much harder on Alyssa. I left her a note, explaining everything. And by everything, I mean _everything_. When I'd re-read the note to make sure I'd included everything that I had wanted to convey, I'd been surprised at the sheer emotion of it all, and it occured to me that maybe, just maybe, I could've loved Alyssa, had the circumstances been different. I already loved her as a friend, and if I wasn't in such a screwed up state of mind, maybe I could love her in the way she wanted me to, maybe not. But all I knew was that it was unfair of me to keep her so unjustly, to hold her back from having the life she deserved- a good life, with a good man who could treat her right.

I returned Ava to my father and Nora, and let me tell you, it wasn't as easy as I thought it would be. I knew my reasons for wanting Ava around were selfish, but letting go of that one little piece of Casey McDonald was hard for me, alot harder than I had anticipated. I could see Ava looking at me with those questioning emerald eyes, as though she could not understand why I was leaving her. I knew it must be hard for her, having her mother and father disappear in the same week, and then having her newest friend walk out of her life too.

And eight hundred and twenty nine days after my journey began, it ended. Honestly, I didn't mean to drive my car off the highway that day; it was just something that happened. If there's anything I'm thankful for, it's that I'd already dropped Ava back to my father's house, for I don't think I would've been able to forgive myself, had another innocent life been on my hands.

But as I heard the sirens wail around me, and the sound of people's voices get fuzzier and fuzzier in the background, I could not help but feel as though this accident was not as big of a loss as it could've been. I know people might initially perceive my death as a suicide- claim that I was so hung up over my ex's death that I had purposely driven my car off the road, but that wasn't the case. In all honesty, it had been an accident, and yet as I feel my back against the cool, wet pavement beneath me, I cannot help but feel just a little bit relieved.

Because if some sort of God spares me, if I somehow manage to escape hell after all I've done, maybe, just maybe, I'll see Casey again. Maybe this is all worth something, in the long run. Sure, my family is going to suffer the consequences of two deaths in two weeks, but much like using Ava and Alyssa, I could not bring myself to care much. I had become a selfish man.

And after everything I've been through, after eight hundred and twenty nine days of selfishness, I still can't bring myself to care about anything outside of myself, and my own happiness. All I was focused on was keeping myself happy, making sure that I was looking out for number one.

Then again, wasn't everyone?

* * *

**This ending was written in about nine different ways, no joke. I had Derek survive, but be miserable, I had it written from Ava's point of view thirteen years later, I had Alyssa and Derek have a child the same age as Ava... it was a definite struggle, and I'm still not happy with the way this turned out.**

**Regardless, I hope you enjoyed it, and please leave a comment telling me what you thought, thanks! :) **


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